Woe Is Me

The wind touched the curtain.  The lovely, warm day was disturbed by a thump outside her apartment entrance.  Samantha cracked open the door to peer outside.

“What’s this?”  Samantha stared down at the unexpected package wrapped in brown paper.  She hadn’t ordered anything.  Curious, Samantha picked up the mysterious package and carried it over to her wooden sewing machine desk.

The brown paper unfolded easily.  The package wasn’t sealed.  As the brown paper fell away, it revealed a black metal box one foot square.  It was etched with intricate designs she didn’t recognize as anything she had seen before.  A letter was tied to the top.  The knot gave way easily as she pulled the string and released the note.  It read:

Open the box if you must know, but go no further if your soul is not prepared.  When in doubt, when in woe, wear the necklace.

"What necklace?"  Samantha thought.

Samantha’s cat pounced on top of the metal box, gingerly taking a seat.  The crazy grey calico looked up at her, purring and batting her white lace shirt.  “Silly, Pooka,” Samantha said, adamant at brushing the calico off the box before playful paws made their way to her long, dark hair.

Samantha opened the metal box.  Inside were a bunch of silk scarves, mostly black yet with some deep colour highlights.  They were packed around a small urn made of the same metal and designs as the box.  Samantha moved the urn onto her wooden sewing desk next to the box.  Looking through the scarves, she found the aforementioned necklace.  It was a star. It fit in the palm of her hand, and was made of a black metal.  The star design was composed of twisted metal branches wrapped around and securing a round, polished quartz stone at the centre.  There wasn’t a speck of rust, was quality made, and well-cared-for.  The chain was the same metal, black, and fairly long.  It was pretty, if not moody.

She put the necklace down on the desk.  It was a curious urn. Metal, yet not heavy or cold to the touch. Samantha lifted the urn lid.  It seemed empty. Turning it over, a large black pearl fell out; she caught it in the palm of her hand.  Unlike the urn, this was very cold.  Upon inspection, the pearl surface had white etch marks. While trying to discern a possible meaning, the pearl became intangible, sank into her hand, and vanished.

Samantha would have jumped in shock if she could have moved. Maybe she would have screamed if she could.  Instead, frozen in place, and she continued staring at her palm. She felt cold and sad.  This deepened into an intense misery, an expectation of a dreadful tomorrow. There was now no point to tomorrow.  Inside was a deep sense of foreboding.

“Things could be worse; they will be tomorrow,’ She heard in her head. “Things can only get worse.”

That wasn’t how she ever felt.  There was always hope for tomorrow.  No, that’d not right either, that’s also not what she believed.  “Thete’s no point in anything today, because it can’t make tomorrow any better.”

Samantha could move.  Standing up straight, she looked around the room. She was alone.  Sure, Pooka was there; that didn’t matter.  For the first time, she understood Shakespeare’s meaning. Woe—is—me. And she remembered. 

The necklace was right there on the sewing desk.  While it was obviously useless, she grabbed the chain and pulled the necklace over her head.  It rested in the middle of her diafram.  

At first, there was no point.  Slowly, all her misery, all the foreboding, poured like cold water from her limbs to her chest and into the star of the necklace.  With her right hand, she lifted the star pendant to see inside the round quartz centre was a black pearl with a scribbled grinning face.

“It is your choice.” It was a new voice. This voice was gentle and light. It wasn’t her own thoughts, and it didn’t have the weight of those dark feelings. She wondered, what choice?

“What should be done with the last misery in existence, the one no one yet suffers perpetually. Unless you decide otherwise.”

Samantha didn’t understand.  She didn’t know why she wasn’t terrified.  While the evidence seemed contradictory, she wasn’t insane.  A sense of purpose made her listen patiently.

“When you wake in the morning, you will carry this with you.  The choice is yours.  Do you carry this burden to the end of your days, guarding it against all the world, do you release it upon the world?  Do you unleash this spirit onto the world, giving the gift of perpetual foreboding to humans?  Or do you send it on its way to curse and entrust another with this choice?”

“Wait...that means...who cursed and entrusted me?” Samantha asked.

“Pooka,” said the gentle voice.  “You are wise, she felt. She said you were—sincere.”

Pooka was purring, walking circles around Samantha’s feet and nudging her legs.

Pooka knows best, Samantha thought. Who am I to argue with a cat.